These Are The Voyagers
by Battle Fries
Summary: The crew of Voyager gets home just in time for the Dominion War. A series of one-shots showing the Voyager and DS9 casts intermingling. Starts after The Raven and Behind the Lines.  Some fluff, some heavier stuff.
1. Finally Almost Home

**_Finally (Almost) Home_**

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* * *

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Captain Kathryn Janeway was not having the best of mornings so far. There was, however, concrete medical data to suggest that once she had consumed the proper amount of black coffee to which she was undeniably addicted, the problem would rectify itself in short order. Not wanting to sully her image in front of the crew, the Captain nursed her lukewarm mug of java in the privacy of her Ready Room.

Her combadge chirped. "Captain to the bridge," Chakotay's voice said in a somewhat excited manner. Given the Commander's mostly wooden demeanor, any sign of emotion on his part was worth taking notice of.

With a sigh, Janeway rose from her seat and stormed through the door onto the bridge. "This had better be important," she growled, still not fully awake.

"It is," Chakotay assured her. "Harry, please repeat what you told me."

"Captain, sensors have detected, uh, a hole in space," Ensign Kim reported.

Janeway looked to the Ops station and gave Harry a withering look. "A 'hole,' Ensign? Can you be more specific?"

"There's a bit of space where the stars don't match the area surrounding it," he explained. His face split into a silly grin. "Our sensors do recognize the stars, though. It's the Alpha Quadrant!"

That got Janeway's attention. Her coffee, still in her hand, was now forgotten, and she was wide awake. "Onscreen."

The view screen lit up with a star field that was unmistakably wrong in a certain radius. The stars in that small window did not match. "Tuvok, what can you tell me about what's on the other side of that window?"

"Sensors indicate that the other side of the anomaly is within the outskirts of the Kabrel system, Captain."

"Kabrel," Janeway said wistfully. "That's just a hop, skip, and a jump away from Deep Space Nine. We may actually have a chance to meet some familiar faces. Mr. Paris, set course for the Kabrel system. Maximum warp! I don't want to miss this opportunity if I can help it."

"Aye, Captain!" Tom said enthusiastically. "I can't believe it! "We're going home!"

"Believe it, Tom. Take us through."

"Yes, ma'am!"

* * *

Within minutes, they had passed the threshold and had dropped to impulse. "Harry, run a sensor sweep of the surrounding systems. I want to be sure we're in the right place."

Before Harry could respond, the turbolift doors opened and Seven of Nine stepped out. "Captain. I was testing the most recent updates to the Astrometrics Lab when the stellar mapping systems experienced a defect."

"There's no defect, Seven. We found some sort of rift that led us back home. We're in the Alpha Quadrant."

Seven shifted about uncomfortably. "I was hopeful that my readings had been inaccurate."

"Why? This is your home, Seven! Surely, you don't want to go back to the Collective still? You just came face to face with the _Raven_ again. That can't have been easy."

"It was not, Captain," the blonde ex-drone assured her. "But the prospect of living in a society of billions of individuals is an uncertain one."

"Captain," Harry said from Ops, "Sensors have confirmed that we are in the Alpha Quadrant, just outside the Kabrel system!" He had ridiculous grin plastered onto his face. "We're home! Just a bit further to Earth!"

"We should report in to the nearest starbase first. Follow all the protocols. We wouldn't want to ruffle any admirals' feathers," _Voyager's_ matriarch said with a small grin. "Set course for Deep Space Nine. Warp three."

"Aye, ma'am," Tom said happily from his station.

"Captain," Tuvok said with traditional Vulcan calm, "a vessel is decloaking off our starboard aft."

_Damn!_ Janeway had not come all this way, after almost four years of being stranded in the galaxy's armpit, just to meet some uppity Klingon or Romulan trying to make a point. "Shields up. Charge phaser banks and arm photon torpedo tubes. And put the ship on screen."

The view screen showed a small vessel that was unmistakably a Starfleet ship, but it didn't follow the traditional saucer/nacelle design.

"They are hailing us," Tuvok said, his eyebrows raised.

"Good. I'd like to get some answers. On screen," Janeway said as she sat back down in her chair."

The screen resolved into the image of a young brown-haired woman in a Starfleet uniform that was of a design that Janeway hadn't seen before. The shoulders were a faded purple-grey color, but the officer had a blue collar – or was it an undershirt of some kind? – indicating a position in the sciences. "Starfleet vessel," the young woman said, "identify yourself."

Janeway was not in the mood for dealing with a young science officer with an attitude. And Federation ships did _not_ have cloaking devices. "I'm Captain Kathryn Janeway of the Starship _Voyager_. Mind if I ask who I have the pleasure of talking to? And why I'm dealing with a Federation ship that seems to be in illegal possession of a cloaking device?" she asked, her voice dripping with sarcastic hostility.

"_Voyager,_" the woman said thoughtfully, ignoring Janeway's attempts to bait her. The other end of the conversation went mute as the woman in the command chair turned to consult with one of her officers. Only then did Janeway notice the spots running down her neck that marked her as a Trill. _Maybe she isn't so young, after all._

The other starship un-muted its com system. "_Voyager_, are you aware that you were declared officially lost over a year ago?"

Janeway eyes went wide at the harsh truth that she knew the Trill was speaking. So all of the crew's friends and families all thought they were dead and gone. "I wasn't aware of that, no. We have been stranded in the Delta Quadrant for nearly four years. We just found an anomaly that led us here."

"I see," the Trill woman said, her face not giving anything away. "_Voyager,_ you will accompany us back to Starbase 375 for a debriefing. But before your crew disembarks, you will all submit to blood screenings, and security details will comb your ship for any irregularities. Failure to comply will result in hostile action." The brunette's stoic face softened a bit. "Please, don't bring it to that. I _really_ hope you are who you say you are. We need all the help we can get."

Janeway was perplexed by the science officer's remarks, but they did feel ominous. "Is Deep Space Nine not equipped to handle our needs?" Janeway asked sincerely.

The woman, who had still not given her name or rank, seemed on the verge of answering. "I'm not authorized to discuss that at this point. Report to Starbase 375 immediately, Captain."

This was getting to be bit much, and without her morning coffee, Janeway's patience was running thin. "I'm so sorry, but unless you have a means of enforcing your request… Are those Lieutenant Commander's pips on your uniform? Unless you plan to force us there, Commander, then I'm afraid I'm going to have to pull rank on you and order you to back off. And then I may have to report your theft of a cloaking device"

The Trill actually laughed at that. "Captain, let me be clear. You are officially dead. You have no legal standing, and you are in the middle of a war zone. _My_ ship, on the other hand, is a critical military asset that is in full compliance with Federation law. Also, no Allied ship is authorized to travel alone right now, so you _will_ be coming with us."

"Captain!" Harry called from his station, "Five more ships are decloaking! Four Klingon Birds of Prey and one Vor'cha-class cruiser. They have us surrounded."

Janeway looked back to the brunette Trill, who had not flinched during their encounter. "Keep your shields and weapons online during the trip, Captain," she said. "If we encounter the enemy on our way, I'd like to have your guns on our side."

_We're at war? Allied with the Klingons? Against who? _"I guess I don't really have a choice, do I?"

"No, you don't," the Trill said sadly. "And you can call me Commander Dax. Now, let's get going. I'm sure the brass are going to have a lot of questions for you."

* * *

Finally, after arriving at Starbase 375, a security team had beamed over to Voyager and started taking blood samples of the entire crew, starting with Janeway. Most of the team had been content just to see the blood at all, which made Janeway rather uneasy. But it was then scanned and downloaded into the Starbase's computers.

Janeway was still on the bridge, surrounded security teams in these new uniforms that she didn't recognize, though they almost universally had a yellow collar. This was _not_ how she had envisioned coming home.

"Dax to Janeway," the Trill's voice said harshly over the com. "Please report to Cargo Bay Two."

_Oh, damn._ Janeway hadn't even thought about how she was going to explain the prevalence of Borg technology on the ship. If the paranoid officers who had greeted _Voyager_ were any indication, this would not go well. "On my way," Janeway said, not liking being ordered about by a Lieutenant Commander.

Heading to the turbolift, Janeway noticed that she had an escort of two security guards. The ride down to Deck Eight felt a lot longer than usual. After disembarking, the Captain couldn't help but feel she was being taken to her own execution.

Arriving at their destination, the doors opened to reveal security teams combing through the various Borg technology with great care. Dax stood overseeing the efforts, her hands clasped behind her back in a manner not unlike Seven of Nine.

"Commander Dax," Janeway greeted the woman in person for the first time.

The trill turned to face _Voyager's_ Captain. "Captain Janeway. I'm happy to say that with a few exceptions, we can verify the identities of your crew. Those who we can't identify are either ex-Maquis, a Human/Ktarian hybrid child, an alien unknown to us who claims to be your ship's cook." Dax's eyes turned steely and cold. "And a former Borg drone who claims to be a member of your crew. Tell me, Captain, were you aware of this level of Borg technology infesting your ship?"

Janeway sighed. She felt like she was about to lecture an ignorant child. "Yes, Commander. I am fully aware of every nanoprobe on this ship. We had to pass through Borg space during our journey, and the result was not one I would care to repeat. Still, we managed to rescue a young woman and have started to help her to recover her individuality."

Dax nodded approvingly, her hands still clasped behind her back. "Admirable goals, Captain, but why keep these alcoves active?"

"Seven of Nine still needs to regenerate. She's been a drone for most of her life, and her body still relies on a significant amount of Borg technology to survive."

"But you haven't limited use of Borg technology to just one regeneration alcove, Captain. You were in the process of constructing an entire new section of your ship with Borg technology in key areas."

Janeway tensed at the implications. "If you're referring to the Astrometrics Lab, that was meant as a way to reduce the time of our voyage home, which started off as a 70,000 light year journey. We got damned lucky in cutting that so short. And I've just about had it with your insinuations about me and my crew. I think it's time that you gave me some answers as to what the hell I've seemed to miss during my time away from home!"

Dax arched an eyebrow, but seemed to decide that the Captain deserved some answers. "What do you know about the Dominion?"

"The Dominion?" Janeway had to scour her memory for any bits of information. "Not much. Weren't they a recently-encountered Gamma Quadrant power?"

The Trill smiled without humor. "You could say that. Almost a year ago, they invaded the Alpha Quadrant with thousands of ships. They've allied themselves with the Cardassians, and have declared war on the Federation and the Klingon Empire. The only reason we haven't been totally overrun is that we managed to mine the entrance to the Bajoran wormhole. But the Dominion still has shipyards, factories, and hatcheries throughout Cardassian space. And in the opening battle of the war, they captured Deep Space Nine."

Janeway blanched at the implications of Dax's words. The Federation wasn't only at war, but even with the Klingons as allies, they were _losing_? "How did things get so bad?"

"The Dominion spent the years leading up the war infiltrating various Alpha Quadrant powers and pitting them against each other. Martial law was even declared on Earth for a brief time after a bombing there."

_Martial law on Earth?_ The situation was far worse than Janeway had any right to expect. "We'll help in whatever way we can," she promised.

Dax actually smiled, and it reached her eyes. "Glad to hear it. You'll want to report to Admiral Ross as soon as you can. Fortunately for you, in my expert analysis, your vessel isn't in any danger of assimilation, and if you can vouch for your Borg crewmember, then I imagine her expertise would be enormous and invaluable."

Janeway smiled at that. "We've found that to be true so far."

"Then report to the Admiral, Captain. He's expecting you," the Trill said. "And let me be the first to say that it's damned good to have you back."

* * *

**THREE WEEKS LATER**

Seven of Nine stood at a station between Ensign Kim and Commander Tuvok on the bridge, which had seen better days. Many panels had overloaded, and debris littered deck one. "Captain, the enemy fleet is changing course," she reported as the fire suppression systems finally came online. "They are falling back to Cardassian space." The ex-drone guessed that without the timely arrival of Klingon reinforcements, the battle would have been lost, and _Voyager _destroyed.

The Borg had encountered Dominion ships only sporadically over the past several hundred years during probing missions to the Gamma Quadrant, and they had consistently held their own against the Collective. Admittedly, nothing larger than a Sphere had ever been sent in that direction, but the Dominion's resistance quotient was still quite high.

"Captain," Tuvok said from his station, "We are receiving a transmission from the _Defiant_. The fleet is to rendezvous at Deep Space Nine. It appears that the Dominion has been routed."

"Routed, but not defeated," Janeway noted. "Well, it's a start. You heard the orders. Let's get to DS9. If you'll excuse me, I'll be in my ready room."

Seven watched the Captain depart, and felt a wave of uncertainty wash over her. She was far beyond the Collective's reach, so going back was not an option, even if she wanted to. Individuality had its appeal, but it was also chaotic at the best of times. Things were difficult enough on a single starship, but now the ex-drone was about to enter an entire society of individuals. The prospect was unsettling.

As _Voyager _set course for Deep Space Nine, the blonde went over her knowledge of the facility in her mind. It was once a Cardassian mining station that had been ceded to the Bajorans after the Cardassian Occupation of their world had ended almost six years ago. It was now under Federation management, if not ownership.

It had become a center of trade and commerce for numerous species and nations, and was now likely to be a critical military installation. And it was also likely that _Voyager_ would be stationed out of DS9 for the foreseeable future. _How will life on a space station differ from life on a starship?_ Seven wondered.

She had been accepted as a non-threat by the admiralty, and had indeed been labeled an asset. Her expertise with various technologies was likely to be helpful, but her exact role was still unclear. She was not a member of Starfleet, though she served on one of their ships.

In approximately four hours, they would arrive at Deep Space Nine. Despite having been assimilated at a young age, and having undergone numerous trials during her short time aboard _Voyager_, Seven was fairly certain that her baby steps into the world of individuality were about to be replaced by a very deep plunge. _I am not ready. But I will adapt._

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This chapter was primarily a stage-setting one. The other 'chapters' will mostly be one-shot stories taking place within the environment established in this chapter.

Star Trek is not mine in any way, shape, or form.

Reviews, comments, criticisms, etc. are always appreciated.

Many Thanks for reading! I hope you enjoy!


	2. The Seventh of Nine Rule of Acquisition

_**The Seventh of Nine Rule of Acquisition**_

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* * *

**_

Quark couldn't decide which Rule of Acquisition to apply to the current situation. The 34th Rule clearly stated that 'War is good for business.' And the lead up to the war had most certainly brought in a hefty number of people looking to move various wares, or simply to move themselves, and the Ferengi bartender had made more than a decent profit from such ventures.

But then the war had actually started, and the station had swiftly fallen back into Cardassian hands. Only this time, they were shackled by their Dominion masters, and the Dominion did not make for good customers. A Vorta might very rarely buy something, but the Jem'Hadar had no need for food, drink, or fantasy adventures in the holosuites.

But now, with the Federation back in control, the Bajoran populace was delighted to have their Emissary among them once again. As a result, they felt inclined to celebrate. And that meant that they were inclined to spend, which inevitably led them to Quark's. Was this peace, or just another side of war? Was the 34th Rule still in effect? Or was the 35th Rule's proclamation that 'Peace is good for business' truly applicable here.

A cry of "Dabo!" from one of the gambling tables brought Quark back to reality, and he decided that so long as there was profit to be had, the exact semantics didn't matter so much as the latinum itself.

It had galled the bartender to see Nog in an Ensign's uniform, but despite the insidiousness of the Federation, it was a relief to see his nephew alive and well. No doubt the younger Sisko would be pleased to see him as well. Jake might be a _hew-mon _without much of a wallet, but he was a common social fixture, and as the son of the Emissary, any time he spent at the bar was bound to attract customers. He was a good kid, if a bit naïve at times.

The 22nd Rule of Acquisition said that a wise man can hear profit in the wind, and Quark had never doubted that old adage. But he'd never taken it quite as literally as he did right now. A faint humming was growing steadily louder through the din of the festive crowds, and it sounded like nothing the Ferengi had ever heard before. The source, however, was beyond his ability to detect so far.

It seemed to be coming from the entrance to the bar, and it wasn't moving anymore. Most people wouldn't notice the faint sound. But then, most people weren't blessed with ears like his. Looking up, Quark tried to clean a glass as he searched to seem inconspicuous.

There, standing in the doorway, was the most impossibly-proportioned female he had ever laid eyes on. Clad in a skin-tight brown outfit was a pale-skinned woman with blonde hair. She looked human, but she might have been another species. A second look over her more admirable assets showed that she was cybernetically endowed.

_And who says you have to choose between business and pleasure?_ Quark idly stroked one earlobe as he considered the possibilities. For her part, the blonde cyborg also seemed to be in deep thought. _Uh oh,_ Quark thought as realization dawned. _She's _this _close from deciding not to come in._ Quark knew that look. Once someone with _that look_ on their face decided not to come into his humble establishment, it was usually a permanent decision.

Quark called Broik over with a snap of his fingers. "Find that young lady a seat at the bar. Make her feel welcome," he instructed his waiter. _Now then, let's see what this turns into._

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* * *

_

Standing on the threshold of the gambling establishment, Seven was feeling distinctly apprehensive about entering. On the one hand, she was a social novice, and was hardly comfortable with the company of others. On the other hand, she was accustomed to being accompanied by a multitude of voices, but they were gone now. If she was going to be part of an individual collective, then she would have to start somewhere.

But this particular somewhere seemed far more intimidating than the rest of the space station. It was very crowded, and very noisy, and there were a great many alien smells to incorporate. Food and drink of all kinds that Seven's body had finally decided it needed to consume. Neelix had tried to feed her once, but the sustenance had proven entirely unpleasant.

Before she could decide one way or the other, a Ferengi male approached her wearing a very toothy grin. "Good evening, madam. Welcome to Quark's. May I escort you to the bar?"

Arching an eyebrow at the curiously direct welcome, Seven simply nodded. "Proceed." Apparently, she would be going in after all.

"Wonderful. This way, madam," the Ferengi said, motioning towards a stool at the bar. Though she preferred to stand, most Alpha Quadrant species did not, according to her limited experience. Sitting down, she found the perch somewhat awkward, but acceptable.

Another Ferengi – this one dressed in more and brighter colors – approached her from the other side of the bar. "In case Broik didn't say so already, welcome to Quark's. If you need anything at all, I'm the man to talk to. Quark, at your service," he said politely.

Seven settled on a nod. "Thank you," she said, not sure how to react. "What is the function of this establishment?"

"That is an excellent question, and one that I'm all too happy to answer. Quark's is an all-purpose restaurant, bar, casino, and entertainment lounge. If you're looking for a place to relax, unwind, try a new delicacy, then this is the place to be."

Nodding again, the blonde ex-drone looked around nervously. She didn't like being put on the spot. She saw a Lurian nursing a drink on her right, but he simply looked at her, shrugged once, and went back to his drink.

"If I may say so," Quark continued, "You look like you could use a little unwinding yourself. Something to drink? The first one is on the house."

"No," she said. "I do not require a drink at this time." Breathing heavily, she nervously looked around. "But I am finding it difficult to adapt to these surroundings."

Quark leaned forward a bit at that. "So, you're new to these parts?"

Seven nodded once. "Yes."

"Where are you from?" the Ferengi asked gently.

How did she answer that question? She had been born on the Tendara Colony, but had spent most of her life wandering space aboard one Borg vessel or another. "I am from the Delta Quadrant," she decided upon.

"The _Delta_ Quadrant?" Quark said with obvious surprise.

"Yes," Seven said simply. "Is that acceptable?"

* * *

The Mystery Woman across from Quark was proving surprisingly difficult to mine for information. She hadn't given a name, didn't want anything to drink, and seemed to answer all of his questions with a simple 'yes' or 'no.'

But then she mentioned her place of origin. "Oh, that is _very_ acceptable," he said, unable to contain his enthusiasm. The only testimony he had about anything from the Delta Quadrant was a rumor about two Ferengi who had crashed after being stranded on one side of an unstable wormhole. And he only just noticed now that she had a Starfleet combadge on her garment. It was an easy thing to overlook, considering what rested just underneath said badge.

But could a Starfleet crew have really gone out that far? "You were part of a Starfleet mission?" he asked.

"No," the Mystery Woman said. "I was taken away by a Federation starship. Returning to this region of space was not my decision."

Quark could sympathize with the woman on that. "The Federation always thinks it knows best," he said paternally, as if quoting an ancient truth. "They'll come into your life proclaiming only the best intentions, and then when you don't follow their rules to the letter, the other shoe drops."

The blonde raised a lovely metal eyebrow. "The other shoe?"

_She really is new. Almost childlike._ Sighing dramatically, Quark leaned forward. "It's a figure of speech," he said as patiently as he could, talking to her as he would a child. "Oh sure, the Federation likes to preach equality and tolerance for everyone, but that tolerance ends the moment you start to think for yourself."

The woman nodded. "An accurate summary," she said in her typical terse form of speech.

Quark decided to push a bit now that he understood her a bit better. "Might I have the pleasure of your name, Miss?"

His Mystery Woman seemed to think this over for a moment. "Seven of Nine, Tertiary Adjunct of Unimatrix Zero One. But you may call me Seven of Nine." She paused for a moment, looking uncomfortable. "Or you may call me Seven."

"Seven of Nine, you say?" Maybe she was more mechanical than he had initially thought. She probably wasn't an android, or else there wouldn't be any external cybernetics. But it was still possible that she had extensive internal mechanisms that he had no knowledge of. It would explain the humming he heard from certain parts of her body.

"Yes. Is that acceptable?" she asked almost shyly.

"Sure, why not?" Quark said, wondering why anyone would ask such a thing. "We get all kinds here at Quark's. Until recently, Jem'Hadar were common around here. Quark's is an equal opportunity establishment, never fear."

"Unlikely," Seven said.

_Did she just contradict me? _"What was that?"

"It is unlikely that your establishment provides equal opportunities. You are species 180: Ferengi. Social and legal structure based on 285 Rules of Acquisition which encourage the exploitation of customers, employees, and unequal treatment of females. Do you deny this?"

_She's sharper than she looks._ "Deny it? Of course not! I'm a Ferengi businessman! But as long as I look to exploit, I never make a distinction between who I exploit. And all customers are welcome to all forms of entertainment here at Quark's. We don't discriminate. I suppose that's what I should have said."

"Your establishment may not discriminate, but you do. As the proprietor, you can only interact with so many customers at once, yet you choose to speak with me. Am I a potential investment?" she asked innocently, almost as if she didn't care about the answer.

Quark decided to simply shrug and be relatively honest. "I'd be lying if I said your cybernetics didn't intrigue me. And knowledge of the Delta Quadrant could be very profitable. Times are tough with the war on, so if there are opportunities out there, waiting, then people would be willing to pay quite handsomely for that information."

Seven of Nine inclined her head. "Information is a commodity you deal in," she surmised. "I do not know where I belong, but perhaps I can be of assistance to you. I am knowledgeable about technology and biology from a multitude of species and worlds."

Quark waved a hand dismissively at her boast, never mind that it sounded like she was simply stating a fact. "Anyone can claim to know everything. Convince me that you really know all that you say you know."

Seven looked nervous, glancing from side to side, but she finally took a breath and leaned forward. "I spent the majority of my life as a Borg drone. I still retain much of the Collective's knowledge."

Quark's eyes went wide and he brought up a hand to rub his lobes. _An ex-Borg! The same beings that almost destroyed the Federation twice now! Nobody knows anything about them!_ The information contained in that beautiful body was almost a physical incarnation of the Divine Treasury itself.

"If you're not sure about your place in the galaxy, then I think we could make a significant profit together. I'm sure I could find any number of people with a greater appreciation for you and your knowledge than the _Federation_," he almost spat.

The blonde beauty nodded. She didn't seem to have mastered facial expressions yet. "I require nutritional supplements," she said nervously. "My stomach feels empty."

"You say that like you didn't expect it," Quark said with a laugh.

"Drones do not eat," she deadpanned.

_There's that word – 'drone' – again. What was she?_ "Of course. So, you'll want something simple, I take it? Easy on the stomach? I think a light salad would do the trick. Bajor does export some of the finest produce in the quadrant, so you're in for a treat."

Seven seemed unsure. "I have no way to compensate you."

Quark just waved a hand. "If you'll consider my proposal, we'll call it a deal."

She nodded in understanding. "Rule of Acquisition number sixteen: A deal is a deal. Until a better one comes along."

Quark smiled toothily as he handed her the simple salad along with a glass of water. _Oh, I love a woman who knows the Rules. _ "Seven of Nine, I think this is the start of a beautiful friendship."

* * *

Again, I own nothing. This little fic will work as a stand-alone piece, but I do intend to revisit this plot in the future.

Thanks again for any views, reviews, comments, suggestions, etc.

Enjoy the show!


	3. A Plain, Simple Misunderstanding

_**A Plain, Simple Misunderstanding**_

* * *

Walking through the hustle and bustle of the Promenade, B'Elanna Torres was feeling distinctly unhappy and discouraged. "No one, Chakotay," she said to her closest friend. _Is he the closest to me anymore? There's Tom, but that could still go either way._

The Commander – and he had been granted a field commission by Starfleet – looked grim beside her. "If the battle to retake this station was any sign, then it's little wonder the Maquis were wiped out," he said sadly."

"There have to be some survivors," B'Elanna protested. She had grudgingly accepted the field commission offered to her. It gave her a much-needed purpose and focus. "We can't be the only ones left."

"Even if we are," Chakotay said, "at least we have plenty of targets to choose from. And we don't even have to go around the Federation to do it."

"Ha! Starfleet, right. I would resign this damned commission right away if it wasn't the best shot of getting revenge. Those Cardassian bastards _will_ pay, Chakotay!"

The Commander merely smiled indulgently. "I have no doubt of that," he said softly as they passed a clothing shop.

But B'Elanna was not in the mood for reassurances. She wanted blood, and she wanted it now. "How can we just _sit_ here and do nothing?" she said, stopping in her paces and turning to look the much taller Chakotay in the eye. "All of us are stuck here for who knows how long, and we're just supposed to grin and bear it? _Khest_, I hate situations like this!"

"You must be more upset than I realized," the infuriatingly calm Commander said.

"What?"

"I haven't heard you swear in Klingon since, well, I don't think I've ever heard you swear in Klingon."

"Ugh. Don't remind- Wait a second! Chakotay, turn around. Slowly." She gestured with her head towards the clothing shop they had just passed.

The door had opened, and a Ferengi was walking out holding an offensively garish shirt while a Cardassian of all people was waving to him from inside the shop.

B'Elanna was already moving. What the damned Cardie was doing here, she didn't know. But he was the enemy, and she was going to exercise her duty as a soldier to make him pay with his life.

"B'Elanna, wait!" Chakotay called after her. "We should call security. Don't go in there alone."

_How in the world did he ever inspire me to join him?_ she wondered. _Was he always this dull, or was it just Janeway beating him into submission?_

Regardless of Chakotay's lack of emotion, Lieutenant Torres strode into the shop, the doors parting helpfully to admit her, and thankfully there was only the one Cardassian there. He wasn't in uniform, but that meant nothing.

He turned around. "Ah, good afternoon! How may I be of-"

The Cardassian got no further as B'Elanna slapped him across the face with the back of her fist. The man stumbled backwards and held the part of his face that she had struck. "You're not much of a soldier, are you?" she taunted.

"I do believe there has been a misunderstanding, ma'am. You appear to have mistaken me for-"

"A Cardassian?" she spat back, lunging out with her foot.

Ready this time, the man sidestepped her attack. He looked to be past his prime, but he was surprisingly spry. "No, you would be correct in that assessment," he said in an infuriatingly patronizing voice. "But I wonder why you are so aggressive towards me. Have I offended you somehow?"

_He sounds almost pleasant!_ "You murdered everyone I ever held dear, you Cardassian pig!" B'Elanna screamed, rushing the Cardassian and tackling him to the ground.

The man went to the floor and thankfully shut up as B'Elanna pummeled him with her fists. He didn't hit her back, but she didn't care. She was going to hit him until he died.

But then hands were pulling her up and off of the Cardassian and then held her in place. "Let go of me!" she shouted to the Bajoran deputies who were holding either of her arms. "Why aren't you letting me kill him?" she asked, astounded by their behavior. "He's a Cardassian!"

"That may be so, Lieutenant," a man in a Bajoran uniform said, stepping in front of her to help the Cardassian to his feet.. He wasn't himself a Bajoran, though. Or if he was, then his over-smooth face was likely the result of a Cardassian experiment. "But Mr. Garak is also a legal resident of this station, and is not an enemy of the Federation or of Bajor."

"Bullshit!" the human/Klingon woman exclaimed. "Then what the hell is he doing here?"

"I would be living out my years in exile," the now-bruised man said as he stood up. "And also doing my part to help liberate my home from Dominion occupation," he said conversationally. "I don't believe we've met. My name is Garak, and I would like to-"

"Just shut up!" B'Elanna shouted.

"Well, if you insist," Garak said too calmly before turning to the non-Bajoran who was wearing their uniform. "I won't be pressing charges, Constable, but I would appreciate that Starfleet do a better job of educating their personnel of what to expect when they board the station."

"I'm sure you can talk it over with Captain Sisko the next time you see him," the Constable said sarcastically.

"You're kidding me, right?" Torres said. "This _Cardassian_ gets regular access to the station commander? What the hell is this?"

"That's not your place to ask, Lieutenant, the smooth-faced constable said in a bored voice. He gestured to the two deputies, and they gently let her go. "Try to stay out of trouble, Lieutenant. I don't appreciate troublemakers."

"And who are you supposed to be?" she shot back at him, crossing her arms. _And what the hell happened to Chakotay? He better not have bailed on me._

"I'm the one who deals with troublemakers on this station," he said tersely, almost arrogantly. "Now, you can leave here peacefully, or you can be taken to a holding cell until you calm down."

Realizing that she wasn't going to get anything else out of these people, Torres stalked out of the shop.

"Have a pleasant day," Garak called after her.

B'Elanna shut her eyes in rage and bumped straight into someone. She opened her eyes. "Chakotay! Where the hell were you?"

"I was getting security, just in case you needed help," he assured her.

"Hmph. You shouldn't have bothered. They were on _his _side."

"I was not on anyone's side, Lieutenant, the Constable said, exiting the shop. "I was enforcing the law on this station. Mr. Garak is many things, and among those things, he is DS9's best tailor. According to most people, at least. That actually is his shop, in case you were wondering."

"So, you trust him then?" Chakotay asked.

"Hmph. I don't trust very many people at all, Commander. Most of the people on this station only have their own personal secrets and are of generally good standing. But trying to understand Garak is something that I don't think anyone ever has or ever will succeed at. I'm not sure Garak even understands himself at times," the Constable sad.

"You mean he's insane?" Torres asked, amused by the idea.

The Constable grunted. "If only. Garak is perhaps the shrewdest, most clever man I have ever met, and he never gives a straight answer. And he's dangerous, too. Personally, I'd feel more comfortable with him locked up, but he's proven to be useful, and he has no love at all for the Dominion. Don't pick trouble with him, or I may be unable to help you if he decides you're a threat." With a curt nod, the Constable whose name Torres did not know walked away.

Chakotay looked at the back of the mysterious law enforcer. "I think it's time we did some old-fashioned hacking to dig up some clues. What do you think, B'Elanna?"

Torres's anger gave way to satisfaction at the prospect of putting her talents to good use. "Sounds like a plan."

* * *

THE NEXT DAY

Garak had just finished up a transaction with a Bolian customer who had been delighted to find a tailor who was familiar enough with his species' culture to make a wedding robe that fit his standards. The man had seemed a bit off-put by Garak's appearance at first, but some friendly reassurances and talk of Bolian culture had swept all that under the rug in short order. The man was happy with the deal he was getting, and Garak was pleased to have made a new acquaintance.

He would have to close up shop early today. Captain Sisko wanted to talk to him about decrypting some codes that the Federation had intercepted. It was painful, to work against his own people, but sacrifice for the greater good was what Cardassia was all about.

The angry young woman from the day before was storming down the Promenade, and Garak offered a friendly wave. She saw him and picked up the pace. He wondered how determined she was. Her attempts to learn more about him and Constable Odo had been easy to detect and thwart. Garak had considered throwing up an elaborate cover that would have magically been unveiled when he allowed Lt. Torres to get past his security measures. But in these uncertain times, it seemed prudent to simply prevent her from accessing his and Odo's already highly classified personnel files.

Garak wondered if she had enlisted her friend, the Commander with the tattoo, to aid her. Picturing the looks on their faces when they discovered that a full Commander did not have sufficient clearance made him smile.

But further smiles would have to wait. The war kept going on all around them, and Garak's beloved Cardassia wasn't going to free itself on its own. _Back to work._

* * *

I own nothing from Star Trek. I'm just having a bit of fun with these beloved characters and their home turf.

Reviews are very welcome and appreciated. Any form of constructive criticism would be great.

I hope you all enjoy what I have written so far. I'm not sure what's next, but I have some ideas. See you then! :)


	4. On Notice

_**On Notice**_

* * *

"To conclude, Admiral Ross, General Martok," Major Kira found herself telling the two men that she both respected, "it is the will of the Bajoran Government that each of the offending Starfleet and Klingon Defense Force personnel be confined to their ships for a duration no shorter than one standard week and no longer than thirty standard days. Offending station personnel will be confined to quarters when not on duty for an equal period of time. Any person found to be violating this confinement will face suspension from Bajoran space for a period of time to be determined by the magistrate should such an offense occur." Nerys did not like at all having to issue this ultimatum. But considering what had happened, she was in full support of the government she was representing.

"Doesn't that seem a bit harsh, Major?" Ross asked with quiet menace, emphasizing her lower rank. Kira didn't blink. Ross was a good man, but if he was going to try to pull out the 'I outrank you in a completely separate government' card, then he had a lot to learn.

Martok took the opposite route. "Regardless of the dishonor of the enemy they blamed, my men attacked an innocent without reason. There is no honor in such a thing, and you can tell your Chamber of Ministers that I will be making a point of this to the Captains of each one of those ships."

"Thank you, General," Kira said sincerely, and then turned to Ross. "And considering the scale of mayhem and destruction that was caused mostly by supposedly _enlightened _Starfleet officers, I think the punishment is a little light, actually."

Ross scoffed. "Those men and women may have acted like idiots, but that doesn't-"

"Those men and women," Kira said venomously, "started a full scale riot on the Promenade. The violence was so bad that the security office's holding cells were full of victims for their _protection_ from your brave boys and girls, fighting the good fight against an innocent bystander. Violence on the station hasn't been this bad since the Cardassian Occupation! And as for Quark," she hissed, disliking this part of the talk even less, "in case he hasn't shouted it out to you already, he fully intends to exercise his rights as a legal resident of Bajoran space and is consulting the magistrate's office for compensation from both Starfleet and the KDF for damages done to his property, as well as injuries to his staff and to himself."

Martok scoffed. "The Ferengi has been pestering me about such things whenever any of my troops decide to so much as celebrate after a victory. But after inspecting the damage personally, I will give your magistrate as much cooperation as possible."

"Starfleet will of course abide by Bajoran law," Ross said politically. "But I won't pretend that I like the restrictions your government is imposing on its allies."

Kira groaned under her breath. "Admiral, if you like, I can give you a very detailed account of what happened. I viewed the security recordings many times, trying to find what stared all of this, and I'm going to tell you now, as best I can, what Bajor's _allies_ are capable of when they find someone they hate worse than the Dominion."

* * *

"My dear, you look absolutely lovely," Elim Garak told his latest customer. "But with measurements like yours, such is inevitable with almost any outfit."

Seven of Nine examined the outfit she was wearing at the recommendation of the Cardassian tailor. Not nearly as constricting as the suits that the Doctor had designed for her on _Voyager_, the simple outfit consisting of a black shirt, a light blue jacket, dark blue pants, and black work boots was comfortable and practical. "Aesthetics are irrelevant," she told the man, "but the clothing is adequate."

"Not the ringing praise I was hoping for, but one takes what one can get," the well-mannered tailor said gently. He picked up a Cardassian PADD. "If you could simply apply your thumbprint here, then the transaction will be completed."

Seven put her right thumb to the device, grateful for Quark's business partnership. It was only days old, but he had already paid her for information that he believed would help his business endeavors.

Garak took the PADD back, examined it, and smiled again. "Thank you, my dear, and I do hope you will consider my humble establishment for any future garments you may wish to buy or mend."

"I will, Mr. Garak." Without another word, Seven turned on her heel and exited the tailor's shop. The Promenade of Deep Space Nine was an experience both like and unlike the Borg Collective. There was the comfort of being far from alone, but there was also the disharmony of so many voices each speaking what they would without unity. _Voyager_ had been a ship of conformity, and the individual voices were more tolerable.

It had been a week since Seven had last regenerated, and _Voyager _was no longer accessible. She was attempting to construct a portable regeneration device, and Quark had been more than happy to aid her in acquiring the necessary components in exchange for information.

Quark's establishment was much like the rest of the space station: full of voices that were each separate and distinct. It was often chaotic by Borg standards, but the multitude of species that came and went were a relief after being surrounded on _Voyager _by human after human who wanted nothing more than to make her into one of them.

Striding into the bar and casino, Seven of Nine felt her confidence rise as she resolved to resist being assimilated into humanity. But even if she did not want to be human, she was likely to live the rest of her life as an individual. The thought was frightening.

With the bar on her right, she noticed four people laughing and talking together at a table to her left. There was the Trill Lt. Commander who had been commanding the _Defiant_ when _Voyager _had first arrived in the Alpha Quadrant, a human male with dark hair wearing a blue collar indicative of a science or medical officer, and two beings she recognized from past experience. She saw Chief Petty Officer Miles O'Brien and Lt. Commander Worf, both of the _USS Enterprise_.

Seven still retained memories she had once shared with Locutus of Borg, and wished that Captain Picard was here right now. He was the only other person she knew of who had made a transition from assimilation to individuality.

The blonde tentatively approached the table and clasped her hands behind her back. "Chief O'Brien, Commander Worf," she said bluntly as a sort of greeting, "Where is Captain Picard?"

The Trill woman, Lt. Commander Dax, arched a slender eyebrow. "Hello to you, too," she said with bemusement.

"I'm sorry, ma'am, but I haven't seen Captain Picard in years," Chief O'Brien said. "And how did you know who I was?"

Dax sighed. "Boys, let me introduce you to Seven of Nine. You seem to already know Chief O'Brien and Worf, and this is Dr. Julian Bashir."

"A pleasure," the Doctor said, raising his glass politely. "That is a curious name, Miss Nine," he said. "Is it related to your cybernetics?"

"It is," Worf growled, standing up to stare down at Seven. This was not as effective as it would have been on most humans, given Seven's prominent height. "This _thing_ has no name. It is a Borg," he snarled.

Seven merely arched her metal eyebrow. "Partially correct. I am Borg, but I am an individual."

"You sound like a bloody drone," O'Brien said. "Is that why you're looking for the Captain? Were you hoping to have a Borg-to-Borg chat? Don't bother. Captain Picard is as human as I am. You, lady, are not."

"Chief! Be nice!" Dax chided him. "And Worf, really! I would think you two of all people would understand that all Borg are victims." She looked back to Seven. "I'm sorry. Worf may be the love of my life, but he can also be a bit of an idiot sometimes."

"Jadzia," the Klingon began.

"Well, you are," she said unabashedly.

"I am causing a disturbance," Seven noted, suddenly aware of a sudden interest in the raised voices at this particular table. "I will leave now," she said as she turned to do just that.

The bar was not Seven's favorite place in the establishment, but it seemed better than this particular table. Even if it meant putting up with Morn's endless prattling, she would endure.

"Ah, welcome back, Seven!" Quark called from the bar. "The usual?"

Seven arched her brow. "Usual?" she inquired.

Quark rolled his eyes. "Right. Say what you will about the Federation, at least _hew-mons_ do occasionally recognize good humor. Life as a drone must have been awfully boring," he said as he cleaned a glass.

The seat on Seven's immediate right was typically occupied by Morn, who never seemed to judge anyone. Given his plethora of colorful stories, that was understandable. The seat on her left was seldom taken by the same person twice. A Bolian woman in a Starfleet uniform was there as Quark made his comment.

"Drone?" the Bolian said curiously as she turned to look at Seven. A look from her face to her left hand and back caused the blue-skinned alien's eyes to widen. "Oh no! You're a Borg!" she shouted.

"Everyone has a past, Liara," Quark sagely told the Bolian. "Does Seven look like she's about to assimilate anyone?"

This did nothing to quell the woman's fear, and Liara was soon standing up from her stool. "You killed my husband!" she shouted. "And you took my son and made him into-" The woman got no further, as she began to tear up.

"Hey, hey!" a Bajoran man, also in a Starfleet uniform said, wrapping an arm around the Bolian's shoulders. "What's wrong? I haven't seen you like this since-"

"Look at her, Terel!" she shouted. "Borg!"

"What?" the man named Terel said, obviously confused.

Seven decided to help the man understand. "Your companion appears to blame me for the death of her husband and the assimilation of her son," she said with clinical detachment.

"You're not helping things, Seven," Quark said. "You should probably leave, actually. I don't want this to get any worse."

Seven thought about the reactions of Worf and O'Brien, and she realized that most Starfleet officers were not like the crew of _Voyager_. Either that, or else her former shipmates had been too afraid of Captain Janeway to openly oppose her. Lt. Torres, at least, had not shied away from showing her true feelings.

"Very well. I will comply," Seven said, turning to leave the bar.

She was grabbed on the shoulder by the man, Terel. "You're not going anywhere, Borg!" he snarled. "Not until you feel what every one of your victims has felt."

Seven felt the wind knocked out of her gut as a fist made contact with her abdomen. Coughing up air, Seven doubled over, unable to help herself.

"And thus, the mighty Borg began to fall," Liara taunted. Her foot met Seven's jaw, sending the ex-drone flying onto her back.

"That's enough!" Commander Dax shouted from somewhere that Seven couldn't see. "Stand down, both of you!"

"Why should they?" Chief O'Brien said. "The woman is-"

"She's a woman," Dr. Bashir said. "Not a drone."

"Drone?" a harsh male voice said. "Are there Borg here?" a Klingon bellowed.

"She is there on the ground," Worf said.

"Honorless _p'takh_!" The shout was pronounced by a kick to Seven's side.

Very soon, a crowd had formed around Seven's prone form, and murmurs of 'Borg' and 'drone' were being communicated throughout the bar and beyond to the Promenade outside. Seven thought she heard Quark call for security.

No fists could make it to Seven, but plenty of feet were colliding with all parts of her body, and people were tossing their drinks, glasses and all, onto her with as much force as they could muster. A Klingon _d'k tahg_ found its way into her left arm. Seven cried out in pain, which only seemed to egg the crowd on more.

"Stop this!" Dax attempted to shout over the crowd. "Leave her alone, you idiots!"

"What's going on here?" Constable Odo said over the din.

"Odo! In there," Dax shouted. Seven heard a strange sound, and she found the mob around her parted by two gelatinous amber tendrils attached to the Constable. "Come with me!" he called to Seven.

It was hard to move after being so beaten and bloodied, but Seven moved toward the man as the shouts of 'Borg' were joined by those of 'Founder' and 'Changeling.'

Only when Seven reached Odo did she see that the anger had spread throughout the entire Promenade. Objects rained down upon her from the upper balconies as Odo led her to the security office.

The doors opened to admit them, but some of the mob followed inside. A squad of deputies in Bajoran uniforms kept them at bay long enough for the doors to close, but that only served to drive the crowd to attempt to break down the doors.

Seven found herself being led into a holding cell and laid back onto a bench inside. A Cardassian transporter shimmered nearby, and Dr. Bashir was there holding a medical kit. He rushed to her side as soon as the transporter's confinement beam let him go.

Seven heard the force field activate, keeping her and the station's Doctor protected for the time being.

"It's all right," Bashir said. "I'm a doctor, I'm not going to hurt you. Just try to relax."

"I cannot comply," Seven said, shocked to find that she could not even bring herself to remain calm. "I am severely damaged. Any drone that has suffered this level of damage would be deactivated and disassembled. I have become weak and imperfect," she found herself saying through teary eyes.

"We're all imperfect," the Doctor said reassuringly. "But we have to live with that and keep trying as best we can." He put a hand over her own in a gesture that Seven did not fully understand. "Just hold still as best you can. I'll fix you up and you'll be as good as new in no time at all."

Seven opened her eyes and looked at him strangely. "You will make yourself a target," she said with surprise. "Your friends, O'Brien and Worf, will not like this. You will make enemies. Why are you helping me?"

Bashir's eyes widened as if he'd been struck. "I'm a doctor, not a barbarian! You are my patient, and I have sworn to do no harm. If I don't treat you, then I will be abandoning my oath and everything I believe in. No one deserves to suffer as you are."

As her breath began to steady, Seven looked at the man without comprehension. "I do not know what to say," she said quite genuinely.

The doctor seemed to realize that she was being literal and smiled kindly. "A common sign of gratitude is to say 'thank you' to whoever you feel that gratitude towards. You don't owe me anything, but consider it a lesson in understanding life as an individual. Now, hold still and try to relax."

In too much pain to even nod, Seven complied. "Thank you," she said softly. The words came to her easier than she had expected. _Individuality is complex. I do not understand it yet, but I will adapt._

* * *

I don't own Star Trek or any of the characters created by people who are not me.

Reviews and comments are always appreciated and helpful.

Thank you to everyone for reading. I hope you enjoy what I have to write. ^_^


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